


Tales of the Old Mill

by Hagar, Night_Inscriber, podfic_lover, Thimblerig



Category: Fairy Tales & Related Fandoms
Genre: Audio Book, Audio Format: M4B, Audio Format: MP3, Audio Format: Streaming, Audio Play, Gen, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Cover Art, Podfic Length: 30-45 Minutes, Sound Effects
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:21:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25258381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hagar/pseuds/Hagar, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Night_Inscriber/pseuds/Night_Inscriber, https://archiveofourown.org/users/podfic_lover/pseuds/podfic_lover, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thimblerig/pseuds/Thimblerig
Summary: CANDLE:    Hey-dol-a-dilThree women in a millA baker, a makerOf fine candle-sticksAnd also a… er…BOOK:        Dealer in very rare books.PASTRY:    It rhymes.BOOK:        Marginally.Three chance-met strangers shelter from the rain and pass the time in the traditional way: stories told over the fire.
Relationships: The Candlemaker (OC) & The Bookdealer (OC) & The Pastry Chef (OC)
Comments: 30
Kudos: 15
Collections: Pod_Together 2020





	Tales of the Old Mill

**Author's Note:**

> Art - Hagar, Thimblerig  
> Sound, solo parts, in order of appearance - Night_inscriber, Hagar, podfic_lover  
> Sound, in group parts - Hagar, Thimblerig  
> Text - Thimblerig  
> Voice, intro - Thimblerig  
> Voice, body of work - Hagar, Night_inscriber, podfic_lover
> 
> Music from 'The Good-luck Child,' portion is "Warmth", by Earth and Moon found on Jamendo.com

Cover by Hagar & Thimblerig.

| 

## Stream

## Downloads

  * **MP3:** [Dropbox](https://www.dropbox.com/s/1gt3x9ewgi03vlo/Tales%20of%20the%20Old%20Mill%20-%20Pod%20Together%202020%20final.mp3?dl=0) | [Google Drive](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1dQ87YVR-KuBHK1HwkKEgCLEIGIXem6yP/view?usp=sharing) | [Mediafire](http://download1497.mediafire.com/6ftovqxrzzbg/ob2x1igk17n5lie/Tales+of+the+Old+Mill+-+Pod+Together+2020+final.mp3)
  * **M4B:** [Dropbox](https://www.dropbox.com/s/yh1fzu29p26a4cm/Tales%20at%20the%20Old%20Mill.m4b?dl=0) | [Google Drive](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1YkkgGo4LZL0gyQtD2OQ6qfY9DseJczqC/view?usp=sharing) | [Mediafire](http://download1498.mediafire.com/1soi56iteldg/rrocjq73ya2y9ru/Tales+at+the+Old+Mill.m4b)

## Size

  * **MP3:** 46.8MB  

  * **M4B:** 41.1MB  


## Duration

  * **MP3 & M4B:** 36:44min

  
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**TALES OF THE OLD MILL**

Written by  
Thimblerig

Voiced by  
Night_inscriber, podfic_lover, Hagar

  
  
  
  


#### Scene 1: Ext. Outside the Mill - Evening

SOUND: Rain, whining wind, possibly thunder. Fade in footsteps moving slowly through mud. After a moment to set the scene, fade in the slowly creaking blades of an ancient delapidated windmill. Feet on a stone step.Banging on a door. A lighter creak as the door swings open. Shift to…  
  


#### Scene 2. Int. Inside the Mill

CANDLE: Hello the house!

PASTRY:Well actually, it’s a mill.

CANDLE:: (HOPEFULLY) But does it keep the rain off?

BOOK: (AMUSED) Barely.

PASTRY:Welcome, lost traveller. May you join us drowned river rodents at our nascent fire and non-existent repast. Were we elsewhere I would treat you to such cakes, and jellies, and layered torts that your heart would rise and your head spin in delight -

BOOK: That doesn’t sound entirely anatomical, friend.

PASTRY: What call does anatomy have to the delights of vocabulary? Surely a book-binder such as yourself must collect a myriad of treasures to store up in your word-hoard, to rummage over in idle, dreary moments and hang spinning in the air like stars in the firmament -

BOOK: Book-dealer, friend. I said I was a dealer in books. 

PASTRY: My mistake. (BEAT) That’s twice you’ve called me friend’. Hee!

BOOK: (SIGHS)

SOUND:  Chip of flint and steel, sparks, faint crackle of fire.

BOOK: Come in, little one. Neither of us bite. (BEAT) Unless provoked.

SOUND: Footsteps. A thump of baggage. Someone sitting down.

CANDLE: Oh, thank you. I was taking a consignment of best beeswax candles to the cathedral in Rouen, but the wagon got stuck and we were running late so I went on ahead and -

BOOK: Breathe!

CANDLE: I think I’m lost.

PASTRY: Then sit down with us for the night, in our little wooden nut-shell, and stay safe against the drenching nightmares of the outer world. I go to Rouen tomorrow, to take up a post in a fine kitchen. I’ll set you on the right path.

CANDLE: Thank you! And you, Madame? Where are you travelling to?

BOOK: Three steps ahead of me.

CANDLE: (BEAT) Er, where are you travelling from, then?

BOOK: Three steps behind me.

PASTRY: (LAUGHS) She’s been like that all afternoon. 

BOOK: Hush, you. 

SOUND: Rustle of cloth, like someone shifting in her seat.

BOOK: There is no harm in my heart to you, child. Let that be enough.

CANDLE: Oh, of course. My Mama always said to be hospitable and not to pry into guest’s affairs.

PASTRY: That… is…

BOOK: … certainly an approach to life.

CANDLE: Hey-dol-a-dil  
Three women in a mill  
A baker, a maker  
Of fine candle-sticks   
And also a… er…

BOOK: Dealer in very rare books.

PASTRY: It rhymes!

BOOK: Marginally.

SOUND:  Crackling of a fire establishing itself.  


CANDLE: (SIGH) I’ve no bread to break with you.

BOOK: Nor I.

PASTRY: My baggage is as empty as my belly.

CANDLE: I know! We can tell some stories. That’s what my Mama and I do.

PASTRY: Fill our insides with words, you mean? Calm the aching yearning of our hearts with filigreed tales of love and loss? As we huddle like spiders in our little corner, spin out of our substance a water-drop-jewelled web of - 

BOOK: I have no objection.

SOUND:  More fire crackle.  


CANDLE: Me first, then. One day there was a little girl born under a caul.

BOOK: What is this word, ‘caul’?

PASTRY: When the baby first sees the light, there’s a little flap of skin on its head, like a hood.

BOOK: Oh, yes. We think they are lucky, where I come from.

CANDLE: Exactly. So this little girl was nicknamed, The Good-Luck Child, and much did she need it, for her troubles were ever so...

SOUND: Fire crackle fades to whatever Night_inscriber wants for her Intro music, as we move into Scene 3.

#### Scene 3. The Candlemaker’s Tale: The Good-Luck Child (SFX ad lib.)

CANDLE: When the Good-Luck Child was very young, the ship that her family was sailing on was caught in a storm, and then it foundered on some rocks, and then it broke apart and the people all were drowned except for the baby, on account of she was born under a caul. Instead she floated in the waves, surrounded by jellyfish and kelp, until she washed up on a little beach where an old woman who lived there alone picked her up and held her over a smoky fire until she was warm again. And she raised the Good-Luck Child as her daughter, who grew up well and happy and strong, as bright as a new copper penny with curling hair and brilliant eyes. Much as they loved each other, the old woman knew that her adoptive daughter had a Destiny so, when she was grown, the old woman sent her off to seek her fortune with nothing but a stick in her hand, some bread wrapped in a little kerchief, and laughter in her eyes.

CANDLE:In time the bread was all eaten up but by then the Good-Luck Child had come to a great market by a lake, with bunting flags waving everywhere and all sorts of nice things to eat. To make a little money, the Child performed for the crowd by jumping in the lake, showing how she couldn’t drown but just floated, however long she stayed in the deep water. And who should come by? Why, it was nobody else but the King, riding a tall white horse with a red bridle and a high saddle all trimmed in gold.

CANDLE: “How do you swim so well?” asked the King. “Were you raised by the sea?” “Oh, as to that,” said the Good-Luck Child, “I was born under a caul and the water will never harm me.” The King was troubled when he heard that, because there had long been a Prophecy by the local sooth-sayer who sat by the Royal Hearth, that his son should marry a girl like that and, to be frank, he wanted his precious baby boy to marry a very rich princess from the next kingdom over. They had already been writing letters and making promises and agreeing on dowries, and it was so very complicated. He didn’t want this stranger getting involved. 

CANDLE: So instead of just walking by and leaving things to chance or fate or whatnot, the King decided instead to get rid of her. (I don’t think that was very nice.) He stroked his long black beard and then told her he could get a job at his fine castle, all she needed to do was carry this letter he was writing to his wife the Queen, and she would know what to do.

CANDLE: The Good-Luck Child took the letter (it was sealed with bright crimson wax) and went on her way. One time, she stopped at a little house in the woods, all hemmed about with tasselled grass and small bright wildflowers, and asked the people who lived there if she could stop for the night and they said yes. (QUIETER) But little did she know… that they were (LOUDER) Bandits! And late, when the moon wept silver star-tears, and the golden-amber embers of the fire faded to slate, the bandits crept up on the Good-Luck Child and went through all her folded bundle of things, because they were bandits and they delighted in being wicked. They didn’t find much, but still, they opened the letter, and what did they find? It wasn’t a job offer, oh no, it was a (LOUD) Decree of Execution! 

CANDLE: Well. Even bandits have standards and they were very shocked. So they got out their tools and they changed the letter, telling the Queen that really she should marry this girl to the Prince. (I don’t think they liked the King very much, and also, forging a letter was a little bit wicked. But I think as well they were nice people deep down.) In the morning, the Good-Luck Child woke up and bid them farewell, and then went on her way with her little kerchief-bundle, tumpty-too, tumpty-too. When she arrived at the castle, the Queen was greatly surprised at the letter, but she introduced the Good-Luck Child to her son, and when the King got to the castle, he was Even More surprised to find the wedding about to happen.

CANDLE: The King wasn’t at all happy, but he couldn’t say, “Oh no, a marriage wasn’t the event I had in mind,” because he thought that would make him look indecisive. Instead he announced that before the wedding could happen, the Good-Luck Child had to go on a Quest to Prove Her Valour (in the tradition of brave tailors and other heroes of the people), and that he wanted the Good-Luck Child to bring back three of the golden hairs of the Giant that lived by the Well at the World’s End.

CANDLE: So in the morning the Child packed up her kerchief with a little bread in it baked by the Prince’s own hands (because he liked her, a little bit, and maybe more than a little bit), and she listened to the question he asked and promised to answer it if she could. She started walking west, to the Giant’s house. One day around noon she came to a little town on top of a hill, where everyone was wailing and weeping because you see there was a wonderful fresh spring at the top of the hill where they used to get their water but it had all dried up. The Good-Luck Child said she didn’t know anything about that sort of thing, but she was going to see the Giant who lived by the Well at the World’s End, and she would be sure to ask. So they let her go, with a flower in her hair and a little more bread in her kerchief. And once in the evening the Child came to a river so deep and so dark and so cold that not even she could swim it and keep the chill out of her heart. But a ferryman rowed across the river, twice a day, and he let her hop aboard. The two of them got to talking, as he rowed, as travellers do, and the ferryman with his gnarled hands wrapped about his long oar said that he was trapped on his boat, and could not leave it, and he had been there so long he had forgotten his own name. The Good-Luck Child grieved with him, and said that she was going to see the Giant by the Well, and she would be sure to ask for a solution.

CANDLE: All in all, it was quite a trip! But finally, after walking ever so, the Good-Luck Child reached a stone well in the west of the world, with a blackbird singing in an apple tree over the water, and beside that was a little house with a tiny old woman in front of it, sweeping. The Good-Luck Child introduced herself and her quest for three golden hairs, and the old woman smiled without any teeth and said that she was the Giant’s Grandmother. “And as to the rest, he’ll do what his Nanna wants or I’ll know the reason why.” 

CANDLE: As the light began to fall golden, and amber, and red, the Grandmother put away her broom and hid the Good-Luck Child in a linen chest, and when the Giant came home with the fall of the night, she sat him down on a stool to comb out his blazing hair, as was their custom. She combed and she combed and then… ouch! she plucked out a golden hair. The Giant stirred on his stool. “What was that for, Nanna?” he cried. “Oh, oh,” said the old woman. “I dreamed about a ferryman, rowing a boat across a deep, dark, cold river, who has been there so long he forgot his name. And my heart went out to the poor man.”

CANDLE: “Tchah,” rumbled the Giant. “I have seen this ferryman on my travels, as I see most of the world. All he need do is put his oar in another’s hand and bid them take it, and then the man will be free.”

CANDLE: The old woman thanked her grandson and went back to combing his fiery hair with her comb of horn and ivory. Then… ouch! she plucked out another golden hair. The Giant twitched. “What was that for, Nanna?” he asked. “Oh, oh,” said the old woman. “I dreamed about a little town on a high hill, where the water runs sweet all the turning of the year. But now it is dry and the children thirst.”

CANDLE: “Tchah,” rumbled the Giant. “It is no matter. I have seen this town in my travels. In the foundations of that well shelters a jewelled toad, that soaks up all the water. All they need do is lure out that toad with warmed milk and honey, and all will be well.”

CANDLE: The old woman remarked how clever her grandson was, so smart, so kind, and again she combed straight the tangled burning tresses of his hair. And then… ouch! Another hair was plucked out. “Awwooowow,” cried the Giant. “What was that for, Nanna?!” he asked. “Oh, oh,” said the old woman. “Today a girl asked me the secret to a happy marriage. And I wondered if you remembered.”

CANDLE: “Tchah,” purred the Giant. “As to that, I remember what you told me when I was but a clumsy youth, and I have never forgotten it. He whispered in her ear and she smiled. The clock ticked, the shadows deepened. When the Giant was sleeping, slow and even, his Grandmother helped the Good-Luck Child out of the linen chest, and gave her the three golden hairs wound into a braided ring, and whispered in her ear the last secret. And the Good-Luck Child kissed the Giant’s Grandmother on both wrinkled cheeks and went on her way.

CANDLE: When she got to the deep, dark, cold river, she waited until she had been taken to the other side before telling the ferryman about putting his oar in someone else’s hand. When she got to the little town on the high hill, she told them all about the jewelled toad and how to lure it out with milk and honey, and stayed for the celebration feast when their spring ran clear again. When she got back to the castle of the King, she waved her band of gold high over her head and all the people stared in amazement. (The King still did not want her to marry his son but she told him how to reach the Giant who lives at the World’s End, and he went off running to fetch golden hairs of his very own. And when the ferryman handed him the oar…? He took it.) And then the Queen, who was not entirely unhappy to see her husband gone off again, married the Good-Luck Child to her son straight away.

CANDLE: This is what the bride and the groom told each other, as they clasped each other’s hands and stared into each other’s eyes. “I don’t know where this road is going, but I want to walk it with you. Your thoughts to my mind; my troubles to your heart. I want that, I do.” It is what the Giant told his Grandmother, and what she told the Good-Luck Child, who told her betrothed, and I was there to hear it at the wedding and so I am telling it to you.

CANDLE: The End!

SOUND: SFX fades back into the crackling fire... 

#### Scene 4. Int. Inside the Mill

CANDLE: (I wasn’t really at the wedding. That’s just part of the story.)

PASTRY:That was fun! I liked the giant’s blazing hair.

BOOK: I found it very colourful. (MUSING) “I do not know where this road is going…”

PASTRY: “Wherever you go, I shall go! Your people shall be my people…”

BOOK: Said Ruth to her mother-in-law.

PASTRY: Love is love.

CANDLE: Oh no! I have a letter, too! Ngk!

SOUND: Rustling of cloth, fabric, and small objects to imply frantic scrabbling through baggage.

CANDLE: (RELIEVED SIGH) Here it is, and the oilcloth hasn’t leaked. I cannot believe I forgot that. Phew.

PASTRY: Lucky of you. 

BOOK: Best put that away though. To keep it safe, child.

PASTRY: (MUMBLE) You’re no fun. (LOUDER) Who’s next?

BOOK: Might as well be me, I suppose.

SOUND: Fire crackle fades to whatever Hagar wants for her Intro music, as we move into Scene 5.

#### Scene 5. The Book Dealer’s Tale: The Fairy Melusine (SFX ad lib.)

BOOK: It came about that a young knight by the name of Raimund was once questing, in the forest of Columbiers, in the region of Poitou, in the country of France. He rode a mare as white as the doves which gave the forest its name, and her saddle and trappings were dyed the green of summer leaves, of moss on the stone. He set his velvet cap cocked on his head, and sang as he travelled through the dawn-dapple light that filtered down through the tall trees. High his carolling voice; crisp his mare’s hoofbeats on the sod. Gentle and melodious was the rippling of water nearby, and he guided his mare towards that song.

BOOK:The tall trees opened suddenly, like a drawn curtain, and Raimund saw, shielding his eyes with his hand under the bright sun, that there was a spring on the side of a hill, the water calling itself out of the rock, and a low basin of undressed stones all stacked up to hold it like two cupped hands. Raimund peeped through his fingers, for the light still blinded him, and saw a woman in a simple woollen dress with her hair flowing over her shoulders, stooping down at the basin to draw water from it with her clay pitcher.

BOOK: The white mare nickered and the woman startled to hear it, dropping her pitcher. At that Raimund got off his horse and dropped to one knee, for he would not frighten her for the world. She nodded to him then, quick and uncertain as a bird, and reclaimed her pitcher. She offered him water to drink, pure clean water that tasted of the heart of the earth and offered him, also, her name: Melusine.

BOOK: They sat there by the spring, the two of them, in the clear light of morning, and they talked, and perhaps they held hands as two shy young people might do, hesitantly, conscious always of the touch of another’s skin on their skin, listening for the sound of the other’s heart. And in time, as a young knight might do, Raimund asked Melusine if she might like to come home with him, and marry him, and be his lady wife.

BOOK: She said yes. “But,” she warned, “there are times when you must not look at me, for I am a woman and my privacy is sacred. When I labour to bring forth a child, Raimund, do not be near me. And when I bathe, you must not look. 

BOOK: It was many years that followed that Raimund and Melusine lived in great happiness together. At times he went off to war, as a knight might do, and at times Melusine managed the estates, as well or better than any queen. She built fine castles and churches, arranging rocks to be placed about each other at Lusignan, and Crazannes, and the fastness of Tennessus. They had children together: a boy with one blue eye and one red eye, a girl with an ear like a lion, and the last, Gregory, who was born with a great crooked tooth.

BOOK: And Raimund was happy, and his estates prospered, and every one of his children grew and thrived and was loved by the people. But he wondered, sometimes, about the eyes of his eldest son, about his daughter’s ear. About the great crooked tooth of Gregory-the-youngest. 

BOOK: Maybe he was given fearful advice from someone - an advisor, or a friend, or someone who pretended to be wise. But the decision was always his, to sneak to the bathing chamber of his wife and drill a hole in the door with a little auger. He spied on her one day, squinting against the dark wood, and in the high clear morning light that fell through the window, he saw splashing in the water a woman who had not legs, but two serpent-tails, blue-green and lustrous, sinuous as lengths of silk stirred by the water.

BOOK: Raimund caught his words in his throat and went away. He meant to keep it a secret, if he could. He tried, oh he did. But one time Gregory-of-the-tooth got into a fight and killed someone - someone he should not have. Some say it was a priest, some say it was a hundred of those black-robed men. And in his shock, and anger, and fear, Raimund turned to his wife and told her, “It is your serpent blood that did this. Gregory is wrong because of you.”

BOOK: (BEAT) The promise was broken. The human visage that had hung over Melusine like a well-loved cloak fell from her and on the flagstones of the hall that she had built curled a creature of twining serpent-tails and crimson eyes and tufted ears, and great wings of bone and skin that cupped the air like a giant bat. She screamed, then, with all the heartbreak in her. The roof above cracked with the force of her cry and as the high morning light broke in she flew away through the falling shards of the house she had built.

BOOK: It is said that the Fairy Melusine returns to Lusignan at times, to fly about the towers and warn of coming births, and of deaths. Despite their serpent blood her heirs have prospered well. But, that is the story of a man who married a monster, and it is the story of how that marriage ended.

SOUND: SFX fades back into the crackling fire, and also, a gentle snoring. The snoring should continue all through the conversation.

#### Scene 6. Int. Inside the Mill

BOOK: “Wherever you go, I shall go,” is it?

PASTRY:If Raimund had respected the lady’s privacy, all would have been well.

BOOK: But, he still married a monster. Even if he didn’t know it.

PASTRY: Pfff, where’s your practicality? A good house is a good house. You want to keep a girl like that around.

BOOK: What do you know about building houses? All you do is travel around from town to town, kitchen to kitchen.

PASTRY: And I hear aaaaaallll the best gossip…

BOOK: (LOW) How much do you really make from fancy baking?

PASTRY: (LAUGH) Some of it’s from the baking. I have a, ah, manifold income stream.

BOOK: (SIGH)

PASTRY: (WITH SATISFACTION) I knew it was you I saw in Carcassone.

BOOK: I never went to Carcassone. That must be some other woman you’re thinking of. A barber, perhaps.

PASTRY: (BEAT) Good with the… close shaves and bloodletting, I imagine?

BOOK: (BEAT) Something like that. (BEAT) I might suppose. What happened to respecting a lady’s privacy? And - what are you doing?

SOUND:  More rummaging of baggage.

PASTRY: Our little friend is asleep and I want to see what’s in her letter… Oh don’t look at me like that, she practically asked us to. That story about the amiable bandits and the mendacious, murderous letter? What else could that be but a secret admission of her heart that she wants to be... affectionately trifled with?

BOOK: I am not a plot device.

PASTRY: Tell me you don’t want to know.

BOOK: (SIGH) There’s a sharp knife in my bag.

PASTRY: Ah…?

BOOK: If you heat it, you can get the seal off without a crack.

PASTRY: I knew I liked you for a reason.

BOOK: Let’s just get this done.

SOUND:  Rustle of paper. The gentle tinking sound of a hot knife being worked under a wax seal like a, a hot knife through butter. More rustling.

PASTRY: Let’s just see now… Oh. Oh that’s just mean.

BOOK: It can’t be that ba- oh. Yes, that is… unpleasant. And to make her carry the message like that?

PASTRY: Guild politics are just the worst.

BOOK: You’re in a Guild.

PASTRY: That’s how I know. Give me a nice clean coup any old day.

BOOK: We can’t let a child carry this to Rouen.

PASTRY: Of course not. Hand me that thing which, though divorced from the bird, still produces notes. (BEAT) I mean a pen. Hand me one of your feather-pens.

SOUND:  Pen scratch on paper.

PASTRY: All done. Sooo much prettier. Now help me get it back -

SOUND:  The snoring stops! Stirring and yawning.

CANDLE: Sorry (YAWN) I dozed off. What’d I (YAWN) miss?

PASTRY: (SQUEAK)

BOOK: We were just about to hear another story. 

PASTRY: About a, er, a…

BOOK: Messenger?

PASTRY: Yes, yes, that.

SOUND:  Crumple of paper

PASTRY: It came about that there was an, er, an angel? A messenger sent by Almighty God to perform hidden deeds across the earth and the broad waters. 

SOUND: Fire crackle fades to whatever podfic_lover wants for her Intro music, as we move into Scene 7.

#### Scene 7. The Pastry Chef’s Tale: The Messenger (SFX ad lib.)

PASTRY: One time, the angel was sent to take the soul of a good woman, to ferry her straightaway up to Heaven! But when she got to the tall narrow house, its gables ornamented with carved dark wood and pure white snow, she found in the highest room a bed surrounded by weeping children. The angel knew that the good woman’s tender heart would not be at rest to leave the little ones behind and suffering in the bitter world, and pity moved her. Instead of catching the woman’s last breath and taking her soul with it, the angel wept nine tears. And each tear was another year of life.

PASTRY:Silent, tip-toe, the angel crept away.

PASTRY: But Our Lord God knows all! When the little angel shuffled back up between two little sunset clouds with an excuse on her lips, God pointed down to a great jagged rock sitting in the middle of a trackless ocean. He said one small word and the great jagged rock split open so that the angel could see a great multitude of scurrying bugs. “Do I not see each of these tiny insects? And do I not care for them? Why, then, little angel, do you think you might go against My will?” He sent the little angel back down to the green earth, then, to serve out nine years as a mortal woman.

PASTRY: The little angel got herself a job, as one likes to keep busy and also there is a powerful need to eat, and set up as the housekeeper for a priest. She became known as the most pious woman across three towns and also the maddest, for she did not see as humans do.

PASTRY:One bright spring morning, she stood in the churchyard, ankle deep in tall green grass, with the dew adorning it like scattered diamonds, and threw stones arching up high in the air over the peaked roof of the church. Then she clapped her hands, shouted, “There’s more where that came from,” and walked off, very red in the face. One time she watched a wedding party, with the bride and the groom and all the guests smashing the plates, and she wept and wept, and oh how she wept.

PASTRY: Many times they found her in the beerhall, among the people making merry, but always she would kneel for an hour in prayer and such was her great piety and solemnity that none would tease her at this business. It was only after, when she had drunk hoppy beer and gotten a little red about the face that she would laugh and join in the dances, and slap her thighs and kick her feet and jump as high as any of the young men.

PASTRY: Nine years passed as they are bound to do, some with slow dragging gait and some swift like a dancer. The little housekeeper gave her resignation to her employer the priest and said that she would miss him. The priest was very sad, though he wished her well. “But,” said he, “I have wondered for some time. Why did you throw stones over the church, that fine spring morning?”

PASTRY: “Oh, as to that,” said the housekeeper, “I saw a band of cheeky devils on the roof, making mock of Our Sweet Christ. But don’t you worry, I saw them off, so I did.”

PASTRY: “Ah,” said the priest, trying to sound knowing. “Then, why did you cry that time we were smashing plates for the wedding?”

PASTRY: The little housekeeper was silent for a time. She said, “Does not Our Lord God see all, and care for all? Pray, do not ask me.”

PASTRY: The priest accepted that, quietly, for he had seen much of the grief of the world himself. And then, in a wondering voice, he asked, “And, why do you spend so much time praying among the revellers of the beerhall? Is not the church the place for meditation and prayer?”

PASTRY: The little housekeeper said, “Does not darkness walk among us, who know it not behind bright cheeks and laughter? Do not flowers sprout in gravedirt, in every forgotten crack of the world? I tell you: every place that the sun touches, or the water cradles, or the night sings to, that place is fit for meditation and prayer. And kindness.” Then she stood on her tippy-toes and kissed the priest on the forehead, gently, but her lips burned like fire. “Farewell, my friend,” she said. And she put on her cloak of light and she vanished quite away.

SOUND: SFX fades back into the crackling fire. There should not be any rain. A little distant birdsong.

#### Scene 8. Int. Inside the Mill

PASTRY: And the moral of the story is: if your housekeeper wants to go to the beerhall, she might be an angel! So do not impede her in any way. The End.

CANDLE:(LAUGHING QUIETLY) That... is…

BOOK: … quite a moral.

PASTRY: It is! I’ll have to remember it for next time.

BOOK: Little one, could you see if the rain has stopped?

SOUND:  Footsteps. Door creak. Birdsong gets louder.

CANDLE: It’s… morning. We talked the night down.

SOUND:  Rummaging baggage, hasty whispering, crumple of paper as letter is shoved inside.

PASTRY: (UNCONVINCING YAWN) I promised to set you on the road to Rouen, didn’t I? 

CANDLE: You did!

PASTRY: Here. Your baggage. We kept it safe for you. While you were sleeping and all that sort of thing. 

SOUND:  Shuffle of a heavy bag passed from one hand to another.

PASTRY: It’s best we were away. The road won’t get any shorter.

BOOK: Wait! (BEAT) I can walk with you - a little way. Friends.

CANDLE: I’d like that.

SOUND: Multiple footsteps on stone, then earth. Birdsong and the windmill creak. The creak fades as they walk, the birdsong gets louder… FADE OUT.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> // “The Good-Luck Child” is easiest to find as “The Devil With The Three Golden Hairs”, though the individual plot elements - the letter, a king trying to murder a child of prophecy, the grandmother of the devil/dragon/ogre being remarkably helpful can be found all over. 
> 
> https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Devil_with_the_Three_Golden_Hairs
> 
> One of the versions I read, long ago, vaguely suggested the devil/dragon/ogre might also have been the sun, in an allegorical sort of fashion, and I expanded on that a little.
> 
> // My primary source for “The Fairy Melusine” is here: https://jannaludlow.co.uk/Angelique/Melusine_Alternatives.html  
> It’s a tale with a lot of legs to it. Some people think that “Fairy Melusine” might be better read as “The Fae Mother of Lusignan”. Shrug. (I was always kind of fascinated by its similarity to the Maori story, “Pania of the Reef”: http://teaohou.natlib.govt.nz/journals/teaohou/issue/Mao10TeA/c21.html)
> 
> // I based the Pastry-Chef’s tale (somewhat elaborated) on a story called “The Messenger” from Fairy Tales and Legends of the World (1977, compiled by Mae Broadley). Unfortunately, the book doesn’t tell me where in the world it got that story. (The illustrations had vaguely Russian clothing.)
> 
> // _Hey-dol-a-dil_ \- I riffed off the old nursery rhyme: _Rub-a-dub-dub/ Three men in a tub/ The butcher, the baker/ The candlestick maker/ Rub-a-dub-dub._
> 
> // _Wherever you go, I shall go_ \- quoted from the Book of Ruth, which is part of the Hebrew Scriptures and then adapted into the Christian Old Testament: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Book_of_Ruth
> 
> (I’d heard part of the verse recited at weddings many times, before learning that it was originally said between two women at the breaking of a formal tie (Ruth’s marriage to Naomi’s son) - an insistence that they would be together forever. If this isn’t love, I don’t know what is.
> 
> // Castle ref: https://www.french-property.com/regions/poitou_charentes/chateaux/
> 
> // _I am not a plot device_ \- stolen with love from “The Thirteen Clocks” by James Thurber.
> 
> // _though divorced from the bird, yet produces notes_ \- one of the proposed answers to Lewis Carroll’s riddle, “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” was, “They both produce notes, though rather flat.”
> 
> // _I never went to Carcassone_ \- Lord Dunsany, the 20th C Irish fantasist, once wrote an entire story about a king who never reached Carcassone. Eh. It amused me.
> 
> // _You’re in a Guild._ \- Craft Guilds have been a persistent factor in European history since at least the Middle Ages, though fading in power around the Industrial Revolution and the rise of Capitalism. (Speaking generally of a centuries long institution) only a few Guilds specifically barred women from their ranks, though their rights to vote or take office could be limited. “Boileau notes that some professions were also open to women: surgeons, glass-blowers, chain-mail forgers. Entertainment guilds also had a significant number of women members. John, Duke of Berry documents payments to female musicians from Le Puy, Lyons, and Paris.” - https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guild I couldn’t find a direct reference to women as pastry-bakers or book-binders, but there was enough diversity in historical occupations that I felt reasonable giving my characters these professions.
> 
> // The plate-smashing (Polterabend) is a traditional wedding custom in Germany and some other parts of Europe. (“A sherd is lucky.”)  
> https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Polterabend 
> 
> // The dancing with the knee and foot slapping is supposed to be a ref. to the Schuhplattler, a traditional German dance (though apparently it’s mostly the boys and young men that do the leaping about part).  
> https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Schuhplattler
> 
> The following sounds from freesound.org, were used under the Creative Commons Attribution license:  
> \- 203156__konakaboom__summer-waves-at-charmouth-beach-in-dorset  
> \- 23704__hazure__oars  
> \- 27363__genghis-attenborough__arles-summer-festival  
> \- 240186__barcelonetasonora__aplausos  
> \- 29727_glaneur-de-sons_little-fire  
> \- 16480_martin-lightning_severe-thunderstorm  
> \- 69330_justkiddink_birdsong-march  
> \- 22952__acclivity__cheer  
> \- 49809__angel-perez-grandi__dog-village-morning  
> \- 128257__rebeat__breaking-dish-2  
> \- 128259__rebeat__breaking-big-dish  
> \- 128266__rebeat__drop-plate  
> \- 176617__craiggroshek__seawash-calm  
> \- 222521__uagadugu__cracking-earthquake-cracking-soil-cracking-stone  
> \- 234081__klankbeeld__baby-cry-next-door  
> \- 272093__aderumoro__sobbing-young-lady  
> \- 294427__alexkandrell__cambridge-pub-beergarden-atmos-2  
> \- 407566__cyrilenerossouw__throwing-rocks  
> \- 440946__l-q__dutchwedding  
> \- 454213__kyles__swirling-winter-wind-gusty-grains-sand  
> \- 479836__craigsmith__r15-57-child-crying


End file.
